


survivors

by The_Resurrection_3D



Series: ETF [5]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M, Outtakes, POV Second Person, References to Drugs, Sexual Humor, Vignette, references to cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/The_Resurrection_3D
Summary: "The premise is that this doctor gets stranded on an island and eventually has to start cutting off his own legs and stuff for food.”You cringe, kiss your teeth. “Good grief. How’s he even manage the first part of that?”“He got stranded with a fuck ton of cocaine.”





	survivors

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Survivor Type](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/442016) by Stephen King. 



> I'm definitely not posting this as an excuse to not continue working on part two of EddTord Finale aka [and everything you say gives me a real bad feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376657), I'd never do that. 
> 
> Anyway, this is an outtake from part two of that fic, as I currently can't find an actual plot/thematic use for it. I really only wrote it to get myself out of a breakdown anyway and frankly I'm getting tired of my own bullshit. I have over 127k just in EW fic on my hard-drive and according to my spreadsheets barely 23% has been posted. Y'all see how fucking stupid this is right. 
> 
> Also: part two (as of right now) has big EddTomTord energy but nothing explicit, so you can read this as actual or just shitpost flirting, you pick.

“-- I mean, I know logically that it’s a soulless abomination being puppeted on the end of Satan's cock, and if I think about it for too long, it honestly does kinda make me sick—“ you cut in with a humorless chuckle —“but at the end of the day, I can’t draw if I’m dead!”

Tord gives you a look with his remaining eye.

“ _Un_ -undead,” you clarify.

“Or you’ve eaten all your fingers off,” he adds from his spot on the couch.

Tom briefly tears his black gaze away from the television, not sitting up from his half-melted state in what used to be Matt’s chair. “Uh, why would you do that?”

“It’s from this Stephen King story — I forget what it’s called, but it’s one of his short stories he doesn’t like being reprinted because it’s too dark.”

“Like the school shooter one?” You take a seat on the arm of Tom’s chair, your hoodie sleeve a glove around your ice cold cola as you knock back a drink.

“No, that one wasn’t necessarily because it was too dark,” Tord explains, “but because it was causing too many copycats. But anyway, the premise is that this doctor gets stranded on an island and eventually has to start cutting off his own legs and stuff for food.”

You cringe, kiss your teeth. “Good grief. How’s he even manage the first part of that?”

“He got stranded with a fuck ton of cocaine.”

You furrow your brow. “Can’t you just eat the cocaine? Tom, look up how many calories cocaine has for me.”

“Way ahead of you,” Tom replies, his phone already in his hand. “But also fuck off, don’t tell me what to do.”

You give a dismissive wave which smacks him gently across the face. He shoves you off the seat, but your feet were already on the floor, so no real cost to you— you sit over with Tord, slinging an arm around his neck.

“Now, I may be the active CEO of Dipshit Incorporated,” Tom starts, but you quickly cut him off:

“No _, I’m_ the CEO, you’re my vice.”

“And what am I ?” Tord asks.

“Coffee monkey,” you say at the exact time Tom says “cock warmer.”

“I guess I see who respects me.” Tord cuddles up close to you, shooting a silent challenge towards Tom, who isn’t even paying attention as he presumably continues to investigate the nutritional content of cocaine.

“Oh no,” you say. “I still expect you to swallow, I just don’t want you to think I’m paying you for it.”

That gets Tom to look up and laugh, voice twisting in a mockery of Tord’s accent, “This wasn’t in the job description.”

Then Tord’s lowers to a monotone facsimile of you: “Should’ve read the fine print.”

Your hand lands on Tord’s ass with a decently loud smack. “You aren’t getting that promotion for nothing.”

He twists his nail into your side until you squirm and shove him away. “As long as I don’t have to call you daddy, we’re good.”

“Yeah,” Tom says, eyes back to staring blankly at his screen. “That’s reserved strictly for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few corrections, since I mis-remembered some stuff and I'm not editing it because uhhhhhhhh realism. 
> 
> * King never said he doesn't want the story "Survivor Type" to be reprinted, just that he thinks it goes too far. Blame this on the cross-contamination of too much google rabbit-holing.  
> * It's heroin, not cocaine. I assume nutritionally there's not much of a difference.  
> * "The school shooting one" refers to King's 1977 novel _Rage_


End file.
